


A Kind of Halloween Mask (Which I am Afraid to Put On)

by PoliticallyObsessedScholar



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Season 2 AU, Sheriff POV, Sporadic Updates, Stiles gets arrested, Stiles is innocent, Stilinski Family Feels, outsider pov, the sheriff's name is John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-09 09:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12273603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoliticallyObsessedScholar/pseuds/PoliticallyObsessedScholar
Summary: The problem was that his son was a serial killer. No, that wasn't it. The problem was the absolute preponderance of evidence. No, that wasn't it. The problem was that John Stilinski was a man of the law.





	A Kind of Halloween Mask (Which I am Afraid to Put On)

The trees had changed colour, darkened from green to brown and red, leaves falling lifeless to the ground. He stood waiting outside his house for a moment then he went in. He'd promised himself one night, one night to sleep on it. One night searching for some other truth in his son's eyes. One night before... 

God, he hoped no one died tonight.

He wouldn't be able to live with that.

He moved past the stairs, through the lounge - past his son laying sprawled akimbo on the couch with drool spilling from his open mouth and hair wild - and into the small study off to the side. He closed the door behind him and looked at the room with unseeing eyes. Then he rested his elbows on the desk, rested his head in his hands, and tried desperately not to cry. 

He moved to the safe and opened it. There was a siren going off in his brain, flashing red and spinning, telling him that he shouldn't go unarmed around a potential threat but he viciously ignored it. 

He could not.

Instead he released the cool metal of his gun, emptied the chamber, and slammed the safe door.

Then he moved back through to the kitchen and stood behind the counter trying to decide what to do. Pour himself a glass of whiskey? Pour over the case files again? Wake Stiles and -

There was a sharp beeping and Stiles came awake like a marionette. He grabbed for his phone, looked at the message, and then dashed out seemingly without noticing that his father had arrived while he was sleeping.

John lifted his eyes and stared at the ticking clock on the wall next to the door.

One o'clock.

There was nothing for it. Forget a glass of whiskey he wanted to drink the whole bottle.

_"Daddy! Daddy! I figured it out, Daddy! It was Mrs Wilkerson's cat" as he proffered a page on which he'd crudely sketched a cat's paw print "I lifted his prints from next to the vase" and then he grinned up at John, eyes wide and innocent. He might have fallen for it or let him get away with it, if he hadn't seen Stiles knock the vase over in the first place._

He couldn't drink the whole bottle though. He needed to be above reproach in the morning 

Instead he walked back to the study, unlocked the drawer under his desk, pulled out a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a glass. Then he pulled out the photocopies of the files he'd brought home with him and spread them out on the table. 

Half an hour. Half an hour before he absolutely definitely had to sleep. He'd give himself half an hour to find a different solution but he knew he wouldn't. 

The problem was that his son was a serial killer. No, that wasn't it. The problem was the absolute preponderance of evidence. No, that wasn't it. The problem was that John Stilinski was a man of the law. He couldn't ignore the truth when it was staring him straight in the face.

In the morning he left before his son woke up. He couldn't face him. He couldn't think past the alcohol that had been poured down his throat as his son tried to get information about an ongoing investigation. He couldn't see past showing his son the evidence he had and practically asking for someone to be framed because he wasn't thinking. He couldn't look past the sheer affront on his son's face as he talked about how Adrian Harris couldn't possibly be responsible. 

Instead he made his way to the office and called to set up a meeting with David Whittemore for eleven. Then he called Tara in and shoved his files at her, his files filled with all the evidence that his son was a serial killer, cleared his throat and said;

"I'd just like a second opinion," while he pretended to busy himself with his computer. 

Maybe it was unfair of him. He still remembered the times he'd see Tara leaning over her desk to give a gap-touthed Stiles advice on how to carry the one or multiply by three digits. He didn't care.

Everything in this office hurt.

There were the photos of Stiles on the wall - holding a fish he'd caught just before he tumbled back into the water for no discernible reason, his first report card with straight As, opening presents with Claudia on his seventh birthday.There was the scuff mark on the far wall from when Stiles spent his time doing homework in his office. There was the poster of the food pyramid he'd taped to the back of his door, and the poster on police procedure he could unroll over it "only when someone important comes in Dad."

Across from him he heard a stifled gasp, and the flick of paper turning faster and faster through fingers, but he ignored it.

Instead he scrolled through his email - confirmation from Whittemore that he would come but that it better not be a waste of time - and pretended not to notice how the letters blurred in front of him.

There was a thud and he looked up.

Tara's face was pale and wan, her eyes watering just like his own.

"How did we miss this?" she whispered.

Any last, lingering, doubt he had vanished. 

She was the closest deputy on the force to Stiles and she couldn't dispute it either.

Christ. His son had killed at least thirteen, probably fourteen, people. Maybe more. There were usually more.

He nodded at her and she left. 

_"Daddy! Daddy! Did you know that the most dangerous animal on the continent of Africa isn't the lion? Did you? Did you? Can you guess? Guess what it is Daddy"_

_He stared down at that bright face and wondered how his kid could still be awake. He felt like he was going to fall apart and he just wanted to crawl into bed but Stiles was looking up at him with such excitement and joy that he couldn't disappoint._

_"Ah," he said, buying time. It had to be something that would surprise his little boy. Something he wouldn't expect. What animal could be more dangerous than a lion? A tiger? No, that wouldn't be a guess. Maybe... malaria. Yeah, mosquitoes carried malaria didn't they?_

_"The mosquito." He said firmly and watched as Stiles face contorted into laughter._

_"No, Daddy! The Hippo! D'you know why? Huh? It's 'cause -"_

There was a sharp rap on the door and he jerked violently out of the memory.

"Come in" he called and watched as the door opened and David Whittemore stepped in, stopping just inside the doorway.

"Well?" he said brusquely, Rolex glinting as he glanced at it seemingly without noticing. Nothing David Whittemore did was ever accidental.

"I need to see if we have enough evidence for an arrest warrant"

Whittemore huffed out a sigh.

"You're the sheriff, that's -"

"We need to to this one by the book. Trust me, this one needs to be -"

Whittemore took two quick steps forward and flipped open the folders he'd left on the desk. He looked at the first page and for the first time since he started work at Beacon Hills, John Stilinski saw the man look taken aback.

"Are you - Are you, sure?" he said, looking up. John nodded briskly. Then waited as Whittemore finished.

"This is going to be - there's going to be an investigation. You know this, right?"

He nodded.

Whittemore rapped his fingers once against the wooden desk, eyes distant.

"Six crime scenes?" he said and John nodded "Are we sure, I mean absolutely sure, that we were wrong?"

John swallowed, cleared his throat, then spoke softly, briskly, the only way he could get this all out.

"There's motive for Kate Argent to have killed the Hales, there's enough pinning her to the fire but we always had difficulty placing her at any of the other crime scenes. No one's seen her since February. That Matt Daehler shot up the station is indisputable but, well, maybe he didn't kill himself. He killed cops, we didn't look too hard. And there's motive tying him to the other deaths but he's got a solid alibi for at least two of those."

He paused.

"And my son, my son, when we thought Derek was dead he blamed him for what happened at the school. He's been... reclusive. I can't honestly say I know where he was when some of these murders took place. He, well, you know what he did to your kid and, God, I hate to say it but Lydia Martin goes to Prom with my son and she ends up bloody in a field swearing she doesn't know who did it."

He took a breath.  _I'm so sorry Claudia._

"We're sure."

His son was arrested in the middle of Chemistry. He knew because the warrant was signed at noon and on Wednesdays, Stiles' lunch period started at one. By that point, he wasn't sheriff anymore. He'd resigned, effective immediately, the moment Whittemore went to see a judge. Then he cleared out his desk, cleared all the pictures off the wall, took down the two posters on the wall and put the boxes with his things in Tara's car. 

He knew the drill, he'd done it before. 

Except, back then, he'd known he'd be back. Now he knew he didn't deserve to. He'd failed the town, he'd failed his wife, God he'd failed himself. What kind of parent doesn't notice their kid's a serial killer? What kind of cop doesn't notice their kid's a serial killer?

 _"There's going to be an investigation"_ Whittemore had said. Of course there was and he was damn lucky that there was no one around to sue him too. Matt Daehler had killed his mother before he came to the station and the Argent family wouldn't want the attention. (Y _our honour, my dead sister's reputation was unfairly impugned and our family suffered because people believed she killed more people than she did. She might have burnt people alive but she didn't rip them apart!_ ) 

He needed a lawyer, his son needed a lawyer. Stiles had done it, there was no doubt, but he couldn't, he couldn't step away. 

A lawyer would know what to argue to make sure Stiles had the best chance of being safe. He knew what could happen if they weren't careful, where his son could go, how he could be treated. If a lawyer could make sure his son was in a mental institution or a better regulated jail then he would make sure his son got the best lawyer he could.

He swallowed the bile rising in his throat then stepped out to make the call.

He'd mortgage the house, he'd sell the house, he'd do whatever it took to keep his son safe.

He'd failed him before, oh God had he failed him before, but he wouldn't fail him now.

**Author's Note:**

> Stiles is suspected of murdering:  
> \- Laura Hale  
> \- Garrison Myers (bus driver)  
> \- Rental Clerk  
> \- School Janitor  
> \- Unger  
> \- Reddick  
> \- Kate Argent  
> \- Mr Lahey  
> \- Hunter who trained Allison  
> \- Tucker Cornish (mechanic)  
> \- Sean Long  
> \- Jessica Bartlett  
> \- Matt Daehler  
> \- Kara Simmons
> 
> Stiles is suspected of framing:  
> \- Derek Hale (attempted)  
> \- Kate (for all the season one murders)  
> \- Matt (for all the season two murders)


End file.
